


They'll Catch On

by i_believe_in_richard_brook



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Ice Skating, It's For a Case, M/M, Snow, Snow and Ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_believe_in_richard_brook/pseuds/i_believe_in_richard_brook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Subterfuge." Sherlock repeated. "It's only ever young couple that come round these parts."<br/>"So what exactly are we doing 'round these parts'?" I glowered. If we were going to pretend to be a couple for a day, there had better be a good reason. If Sherlock kept calling me "dear" every time he addressed me, I might jump him before the day was over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They'll Catch On

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings Johnlock shippers!  
> My English teacher gave us the prompt "snow" and told us to write anything, and this is what I came up with. Fluff is definitely hard for me to write, because I'm so used to angst and/or dark romance, not really the cute and awkward sides to John and Sherlock, but I'm posting this to make up for not putting up anything since Christmas. My Christmas story wasn't even Christmas-related, nor was it very fluffy, so I apologize for that. This is also to lull you into a false sense of security before I post the first chapter of a new story I'm writing that will be angst to the extreme (self promotion woot woot). But all that aside, I'm pretty proud of this one. It's fairly short by my one shot standards, but I did write it for school and only had one day to work on it. Cuteness, fluffiness, and wobbly ice skating- I present to you, They'll Catch On 
> 
> -JM

"John! John, we have a case!"  
I woke with a start, the angled face of Sherlock Holmes inches from my own. I sat up straighter in the chair I had been snoozing comfortably in, scrambling back a little and looking determinately anywhere but the greenish-blue eyes staring intently into mine. I had moved back in with Sherlock in 221B Baker Street shortly after realizing how psychotic my ex-assassin wife really was. About two months after our wedding, I found out she faked the pregnancy because she was paranoid I'd leave her for someone more emotionally stable. I told Mary I didn't appreciate her lying to me and that a relationship without trust simply wouldn't work, and she said the only way out of this marriage was a knife in my chest and my body on a slab. As I ran out the door, she screamed after me that she would murder my entire family for this. She's been relocated to a psych ward and is now on antidepressants among other meds, and Mycroft's men are keeping a close watch over my parents and Harry, and her fiancé, Clara, so I can breathe a little easier now.  
"We have a case!" Sherlock repeated impatiently, pulling me to my feet and handing me my coat.  
"A case?" I repeated blankly, blinking groggily up at my companion.  
Sherlock clutched his hair in frustration and spun around as he said, "Yes, John, yes, a case! Honestly, how many times must I repeat myself to get even the most basic concepts through your thick skull? We've got a case!"  
"Alright, alright," I said testily, pulling on my coat and reaching for my gloves, which were on the table. "No need to insult me. Not everyone is a genius like you, you know."  
"Obviously," Sherlock scoffed as he strode to the door, his coat swishing out behind him dramatically as he left the flat.  
I hastened to follow my friend out the doorway. As much as I had been enjoying my nap, I enjoyed a good case more.  
"Sherlock!" I exclaimed, stopping suddenly as a wave of cold air blasted my face and I realized that a light, powdery substance was beginning to cover the street. "It's snowing!"  
Sherlock looked up as if he had just realized. "Oh. Oh, yes, look at that."  
As he turned away to turn up his coat collar against the wind, I could've sworn I saw him trying to hide a smile- a genuine, honest-to-god, happy smile; not the smirk that meant he's just deduced your worst fears and had figured out how to use them against you in the most gruesome ways, nor the sarcastic sneer that meant you'd just said something particularly stupid, which were both commonplace on my friend's face. Which was awfully strange, because Sherlock didn't like snow at all, and found anyone who did to be an "impractical ninny with their head in the clouds".  
(I really like snow.)  
Sherlock stuck his hand out to hail a taxi that seemed to materialize spontaneously out of thin air, and we piled in, trekking snow onto the filthy cab floor. Sherlock gave the address, and we were off.  
I knew better than to spark off conversation with Sherlock when he was thinking, especially when there was a case, so I simply looked at him. I admired his cheekbones and lovely eyes and the way his hair curled, something I had been doing shamelessly since I'd left Mary. A honeymoon plus two months suburb life with Mary had brought me to a startling conclusion about my friend Sherlock Holmes and my feelings toward him. I knew it was hopeless; for him to feel attraction at all was rare and the only person I had ever seen him infatuated with was Irene Adler, a female. Still, it was nice to be able to stare at him without a guilty conscience about it.  
My admirations did bring to light that Sherlock was looking a little nervous. He glanced at me, saw me staring, and looked back out the window quickly. Suspicious about the sudden and uncharacteristic shyness, I was relieved when we reached our destination, a-  
"Coffee shop? Quaint little coffee shop?" I asked skeptically.  
"Yes." replied Sherlock, tipping the cabbie and stepping out of the taxi after me.  
"What are we doing here?" I asked.  
"Subterfuge. Stake out." said Sherlock curtly, pulling open the door.  
"Ah." I replied blankly, then breathed in deeply. Walking into the café, I was hit with a blast of warm air and wonderful aromas of croissants, strudels, and coffee. A corpulent, gray haired lady stood behind the counter, and greeted us with a booming cockney accent, "Morning, darlings! What can I get for you?"  
"Coffee, please, and," Sherlock turned to me with a look that said 'play along', "what for you, John, dear?"  
"Erm, tea, please, and a pastry." I said. Sherlock sat down at a table, and I sat across from him, glaring slightly. "'Dear'?" I repeated, cocking an unamused eyebrow at him.  
"Subterfuge." Sherlock repeated. "It's only ever young couple that come round these parts."  
"So what exactly are we doing 'round these parts'?" I glowered. If we were going to pretend to be a couple for a day, there had better be a good reason. If Sherlock kept calling me "dear" every time he addressed me, I might jump him before the day was over.  
"See that couple behind me?" Sherlock said.  
"Which one?" I mocked. There were indeed a lot of young couples in this shop.  
Sherlock must have missed the contempt in my voice, or rather chose to ignore it. "Dark skinned man in a blue turtleneck, redhead girl with a pale pink cardigan and black skirt?"  
I saw the couple he was describing and nodded.  
"The girlfriend, Katheleen Beaux, is a suspect. Possible murderer."  
"Shame. And, what case is this? I don't remember her."  
Sherlock's eyes darkened. "Client came to me about a week after the, er, the wedding."  
"Ah." The awkwardness was tangible, and I waited for it to pass. Sherlock hadn't mentioned Mary or the wedding since I had come back to Baker Street, and we'd been skirting around that elephant in the room for quite some time now.  
Sherlock stiffened. "Just act cute and couple-y." he whispered.  
"Uh-"  
Sherlock reached across the table and grabbed my hand, linking his fingers through mine. He gazed at me with such affection and love in his eyes that my heart melted and I couldn't look away. The café dissolved around me and it was just Sherlock and me, and nothing else mattered, until-"  
"Here you are, dears. A coffee for the dashing young man with the scarf, and a tea and pastry for the darling in the ugly jumper."  
The spell broke, and Sherlock released my fingers. He smiled politely at the woman, who bustled away to fill up another couple's coffee mugs, then turned back impassively.  
"So... what?" I asked, watching Sherlock pour sugar into his coffee and stir it daintily with the teaspoon. "We just sit here until Beaux and her boyfriend leave?"  
"Hmm." Sherlock agreed, sipping his coffee and furrowing his brows at the hotness of the drink. I added a little splash of milk to my tea and drank contentedly, making conversation with Sherlock about things he deemed dull but listened intently to me talk about anyways.  
The pastry was reduced to a few crumbs, and Sherlock and I both were on our second cups, when I kicked him lightly under the table. "They're leaving," I said, nodding towards where the man was helping his partner into her coat. Sherlock nodded, pulling a few notes out of his pocket and placing them under his saucer and standing up, swinging his coat on. We waited for the two to leave, and then followed after them, raising a hand to the boisterous lady who had waited on us.  
Following the couple at a safe distance, Sherlock reached down and grabbed my hand.  
"What are you-" I began, pulling away, but Sherlock shushed me.  
"Shh, go along with it, please. We've got to act mad for each other, or they'll catch on."  
"Fine," I sighed. I felt guilty holding Sherlock's hand like this and enjoying it so much. I had to remind myself that it was all an act, it's for a case, and Sherlock was married to his work.  
Still, that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy it when he held my hand like this, stroking his calloused thumb over my knuckles lovingly.  
He had no idea how much he was leading me on right now.  
We watched Beaux and her companion walk into a temporary outdoor ice skating rink, and I stopped.  
"No. No way."  
"What?" asked Sherlock, frowning at me.  
"I can't ice skate!" I pulled my hand out of his.  
"It's simple." said Sherlock, taking my hand. "I used to figure skate."  
I stared at him, disbelief shading my face. "No. No way." I said. A smirk stole the place of the open mouth, and I shook my head. "You?"  
Sherlock's nose crinkled as he looked at me. "Shut up," he said, his pale cheeks flushing. I laughed and leaned my head against his shoulder a little, which made him falter but smile.  
We rented our skates and put them on, watching Beaux and her boyfriend skate in pretty figures around the rink, crowded with couples holding hands and skating together.  
Sherlock stood, and the skates made him intimidatingly tall. He smirked down at me and pulled me to my feet, where I wobbled a little and pressed my hand to his chest for support.  
"Alright, John." said Sherlock seriously. "Mimic my moves and you'll have it down in no time. Pick, like this, then... glide. Pick, and glide. Pick, and glide."  
I tried to do as he instructed, but found myself flat on my ass in a matter of seconds. I tried again, this time lasting a little longer before I sent myself sprawling. Sherlock just chuckled and helped me up, saying again, "Pick and glide, dear. You can do it, you're not Anderson."  
I was dreadful at ice skating. Sherlock literally skated circles around me, and figure eights, all with his hands clasped behind his back as he glided effortlessly. His coat billowed out behind him, and his scarf flapped in the wind. The effect was quite dashing, and some of the girls pried their eyes off their boyfriends to look approvingly up and down Sherlock's body, or to glare daggers at me as if to say, 'you don't deserve that'.  
I absolutely agree.  
Sherlock grabbed my hand and started helping me skate, slowing his pace. He pressed his lips to my ear and whispered, "Act more affectionate, or they'll catch on."  
Breathless and flushed from the sudden contact, I took a few seconds to collect myself. "But- how?"  
"Just pretend you love me." said Sherlock impatiently, watching Beaux out of the corner of his eye.  
"Don't really have to pretend." I muttered.  
Sherlock skated to a sudden stop, whirling on the ice to face me. "What did you just say?" he whispered, his face inches from mine.  
"Er- no, it was nothing," I said. I wanted to look away, look at anything but the swirling blue eyes boring into mine.  
"No, it wasn't." he murmured, his eyes flickering down and then back up to my eyes again. "Please, please say it again. I need assurance."  
"I- I said I don't have to pretend to love you." I gasped.  
Sherlock closed his eyes. Inhaled sharply. And then leaned in closer.  
I cleared my throat and leaned back a little. "Beaux-" I rasped. I coughed and tried again. "Beaux just left the rink."  
"Beaux? There is no Katheleen Beaux. I used her as an excuse to spend the day with you." Sherlock mumbled, blushing again.  
I laughed a little, hardly daring to believe what I was hearing. "Well, you'd better kiss me then." I said, throwing all caution to the wind. "Or else they'll catch on."  
Sherlock beamed at me, then closed his eyes, swooping in to capture my lips in his.  
We stood there on the ice, exasperated couples skating around us as snow stuck to our hair and eyelashes. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson; the two of us against the rest of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> this was mostly written on lined paper in a classroom. after i left said classroom, i was very uninspired to write, but wanted to get it done, so i just kind of wrote even though i didn't have any drive behind it. you can like, see the exact moment this turned not that great. 
> 
> whatever. 
> 
> -JM


End file.
